Life With Derek
by OverlyDramatic
Summary: Casey thinks she knows what is wrong with the world: Derek. But sometimes, he surprises her. SmerekSmarti bonding, hints of Dasey.


My first Life With Derek fic. Yes, I know the title is boring and unoriginal. But I really thought it kind of fit. And I couldn't think of anything else to tie it all together. Enjoy.

**Disclaimer:** **Characters, setting, etc. etc., fights, cocky grins, etc. etc. are not mine. Everything else is, though. I think.**

Life With Derek 

Tapping my foot angrily, I glared at the object of my attention. Derek Venturi gazed back lazily, looking smug and unrepentant. He had done it again. How he always managed to get himself into trouble, usually pulling me down with him, was beyond me. He had taken irresponsibility to an art form, a habit he wouldn't give up any time soon.

"I can't believe you!" I huffed angrily. Couldn't he pretend to care for one minute? "You completely trashed dinner. We we're supposed to be helping out, giving Mom and George a break, but no. You can't think of anyone but yourself!"

"Come on, Case. Lighten up." I hated that cocky grin that he put on for my sake. "Its just dinner. We'll order out." He crossed his arms across his chest, leaning against the counter nonchalantly.

"It's not 'just dinner,' _Derek_," I made sure to sneer my disapproval as I quoted him. "It was their _special, six month **anniversary** dinner_. And you completely _ruined_ it!" I knew my voice was picking up pitch and volume, but I was too mad to care. "I cannot _believe_ you, Derek. All I asked was that you come home early to help prepare dinner. But _no_, you had to stay after hockey practice to flirt with some _bimbo_." I could tell he was getting aggravated as he straightened and leaned in, but my own rage made me too reckless to care.

"You know what, _Casey_? You can't blame me for everything that happens. _You_ were the one making dinner, you were the one who let Marti run around by herself, and it is _your_ fault that dinner burnt to a unidentifiable mess when you had to go find her." His voice was much more controlled than mine, and that fact irked me. I tried to even my voice.

"If you had come home when you were supposed to, none of this would have happened. But no, you had to reach your grope quota for the day, so you stuck me babysitting _and_ preparing a nice meal for Mom and George." He rolled his eyes, and that was the last straw. I was tired of him not caring when he caused me problems. "You know what? Let's see how _you_ like being abandoned for the day. I'll be in my room, and you can find dinner and watch Marti _by yourself_. Good luck," I sneered sarcastically. "Because Mom and George are due home in little more than an hour." With that, I turned on my heel and stalked angrily up the stairs, giving a frustrated grunt when I glanced at the bubbling brown goo that had been my pasta sauce.

"Let him worry about everything," I thought as I slammed my bedroom door and plopped angrily on the bed. Grabbing a pillow, I squeezed it violently against my chest, hoping to let out my frustrations on an inanimate object. How dare he let me do all the work. Again! I have a life too. He can't just do whatever he wants all the time. He doesn't care about other people in the least. An angry grunt escaped my lips. Breathing deeply, I tried to rationalize my mind. Okay, Casey. So Derek's insensitive jerk that cares about nothing but his own ego. We already knew that. We've tried to accept it. So why did we blow up? I groaned again. Talking to yourself was a bad sign. Especially when referring to yourself in the plural.

As the object of my anger was no longer in front of me, I found myself calming down. It probably wasn't the best idea to leave dinner and babysitting to Derek, of all people. Even though I was angry and definitely _right_ about the situation, there was no way Derek would make dinner. He probably wouldn't even watch Marti. He'd sit on the couch and convince her to watch TV while he took a nap. Yeah, real educational. Leaving Derek to handle things alone was probably one of the most irresponsible things I'd ever done. He was rubbing off on me too much. Tossing the pillow back against my headboard, I pulled myself off the bed.

"Stupid, stupid Casey," I muttered under my breath as I yanked open the door and thundered down the stairs. Hopefully the house hadn't caught on fire yet. Sure enough, cartoons were blaring on the television set, but no one was watching them. Marti's coloring pages, smeared with the lipstick she managed to use before I could wrestle it from her, sat on the floor in front of the screen. Picking them up and setting them on the table, I set about making a list of Derek's bad attributes in my head, starting with, "Can't pick up after himself, and most certainly not after anyone else." As I switched the TV off, I heard a cry.

"Smerek!" echoed from the kitchen in a voice tinged with tears. Worried, I darted across the room and into the kitchen. It never ceases to amaze me how some sights can just dissipate every ill feeling you have toward someone. Derek sat sideways in a chair with his back to me, cuddling Marti in his lap while he dabbed a cold cloth across her hand and wiped away her tears.

"Shh, Smarti. It's all right."

"It hurts, Smerek!" she sniffled loudly, tears welling up for every one her brother brushed away. "It hurts!"

"Shh, Smerek's going to make it all better, okay? The water makes it feel better, right?" Marti nodded tearfully. "Okay, see then? We'll make it better and then we'll start over again, all right?"

"I just wanted to help," Marti wailed. "I wanted to help you, because you were going to make a special dinner for Dad and Nora. I heard Casey say so." For the first time, I noticed ingredients strewn across the counter and my steaming sauce splashed across the floor.

"Okay, Smarti. But next time, wait for me, alright? I don't want you getting hurt, okay?"

"Okay, Smerek. But can I help now?"

"Sure you can." Placing the wet towel on the table, he stroked her hair soothingly. "And you know what will make you feel better?"

"What, Smerek? What?" Most of her pain forgotten, Marti bounced in Derek's lap.

"Ice cream," he divulged in a falsely hushed tone, as if he was sharing an ancient secret remedy for her ears alone. "See, the cold ice cream makes you forget all about the burn on your hand. But don't tell Dad and Nora, okay?" he whispered conspiratorially.

"Okay," she whispered back, giggling as he dove to tickle her. Laughing, Derek set her on the ground and moved to get her the frozen treat.

"Casey!" Marti called out, seeing me as she turned to sit properly in her chair. "Smerek's getting me ice cream!"

"Marti!" he admonished, staring with annoyance at me rather than Marti as he set a bowl of ice cream in front of his sister.

"What?" she responded innocently, white smearing across her face as she shoveled the dessert into her mouth. Derek set a napkin on the table, to which his sister paid as much attention as Derek himself would have. "_You_ said not to tell Dad and Nora," she explained, drawing out her words for emphasis. "So Casey's okay." That taken care of, Marti decided to ignore them, focusing dedicatedly on her ice cream.

"Yeah, yeah," Derek began sarcastically as I turned to him, "Ice cream will ruin her dinner, it's bad for you, she'll get cavities . . . Take your pick." I seriously think that Derek has Multiple Personality. With Marti, he can be the sweetest person in the world; with everyone else, he is undoubtedly a lazy selfish pig. Still, I felt guilty for yelling at him earlier. How does that work? He messes up, probably messes up again by letting Marti near the kitchen unsupervised, and _I_ feel bad.

"Do you want some help?" I asked, trying not to sound too forgiving. He looked surprised.

"Yeah, sure." Wow, not even his normal cocky, sarcastic response. I think he's in shock.

"Why don't I take care of dinner and you clean up the floor?"

He recovered himself and smiled smugly, "After what happened with your last effort? I think I'll cook. You can mop up." He was mocking me again!

"Please, can you even cook?" Granted, this conversation was not nearly as angry as our previous conversation. It actually seemed more like joking, though I, of course, would never actually enjoy talking with Derek.

As we went on arguing, we worked unconsciously; Derek wiping Marti's face as I scrubbed the red-ish mess from the floor. Pulling a chair up to the counter, Derek picked up Marti and set her feet on the makeshift stool.

"Fine," he finally said, looking at me over Marti's shoulder. "_You_ make the pasta and _I'll_ make the sauce."

"Fine," I said, sounding more petulant than I would have liked.

"What can _I_ do?" Marti broke in.

"You get to make the bread," Derek told her solemnly. "It's very important, so I'm trusting you to do it instead of Casey." Marti giggled as she glanced at me—playfully rolling my eye—before nodding in satisfaction.

"Okay, Smerek."

I grabbed a dull butter knife while Derek handed Marti the bread and butter. She grabbed the knife from my hand and began smearing the slices with yellow. Derek and I moved to our own tasks, glancing at Marti occasionally to assure ourselves of her safety. In a few short minutes Derek's sauce was simmering and my pasta was boiling. Marti had somehow covered herself in butter, causing Derek to laugh loudly. I managed to most of her clean while he got his mirth under control. Her clothes were still spotted with grease, though. Derek lifted her off the stool as I washed off the gooey rag, taking her into his arms and tickling her.

"Come on, Smarti. You need to get new clothes."

I laughed at the look on her face. "No," she said firmly.

"Yes," Derek shot back.

"No," her voice held more of a whine this time.

"Yes, Smarti. Why don't you put on your princess dress for Dad and Nora?" he suggested slyly.

"Okay, Smerek!" Wriggling until she was free of her brother, Marti raced up the stairs, Derek close behind. Watching those two together gave me hope for Derek. Despite myself, I couldn't help but awe at the way he handled her. Those brief moments let me know that somewhere in the immature, rash, egotistical, insensitive jerk that was my stepbrother, there was a caring, responsible individual. I shook my head. Moving to clean up the dished, I glanced at the clock. 6: 23. Mom and George should be home soon. I heard footsteps thunder above me, and Marti's shrieking laughter carried down the stairs and into the kitchen. Two minutes later, Derek walked into the room, plopping Marti unceremoniously on the counter. Laughing, I returned to the dishes.

"Are you two getting along?" An incredulous voice sounded from behind me. I didn't hear them come in.

"No," I shot defensively at the same time as Derek said, "No way."

"Okay," Mom said skeptically. I turned around, putting away the last of the dishes before greeting Mom and George.

"Hey guys, how was your day?"

"Fine," George replied vaguely, still looking a bit confused.

"Did you like the movie?"

"It was good," he said, a bit more convincingly.

"Well, dinner's almost ready. Edwin and Lizzie have been doing some sort of research upstairs all day, I'll go get them. Why don't you guys sit down?"

"Alright," Mom said, steering George into the dinning room and whispering to him under her breath.

"Marti, help me with the sauce," Derek instructed as I left to get Lizzie and Edwin. The door was shut and they quickly shoved notebooks full of charts under the bed when I entered.

"Hey, Casey," Lizzie attempted nonchalance. "What do you need?"

"Dinner's ready." I eyed them warily as they rushed out the door, then shook my head. I probably didn't want to know.

Over dinner, I noticed an unusual amount of stares in my direction. Especially when speaking with Derek, though our conversations were just as insult-filled as always. I once thought I heard Edwin tell Lizzie to, "remember to write that down," but I must have been imagining things. That made no sense. After dinner Derek bailed on dishes, much to my annoyance, though I probably should have expected it. Like Derek would ever do dishes. I waved off offers to help from Mom and Lizzie, working alone as I mulled things over.

Much as I hated to admit it, Derek confused me. He obviously cared about his sister and he had actually been decent to me earlier. There had been multiple occasions, few and far between, that Derek had actually been nice to me; sometimes I even thought we could get along. But then we'd go and fight again. Flinging the soapy rag into the sink, I ran water over the soapy dishes. I hated not understanding something, but Derek seemed a living enigma. In fact, sometimes I couldn't even understand my own actions around him, and that was a disconcerting feeling. No matter what I did, he found a way to get under my skin, irritate me and bring emotions so strong I didn't even know I could feel them. Anger, irritation, disgust, yes; but sometimes other things too. Like surprise, awe and other indescribable things. It was as if I couldn't feel apathetic towards him, everything he made me feel was extreme. I hated him with a passion, I respected him completely and I liked him far too much. Once during an argument, I even found myself wondering what would happen if I kissed him. Of course, that didn't mean anything. I was probably just missing having a boyfriend. Still, it confused me, pounded at my skull, drove me mad with analyzing. Like everything he did. Life was just too complicated with Derek Venturi around.

I wasn't sure if it all fit together well. And I'm not sure how I did on keeping them in character. I just love Smarti and Smerek, I couldn't resist. And I had to throw a dash of Dasey in. I don't know if I'll continue this or not. It was meant as a one-shot, but now I'm not sure. Reviews, flames, constructive criticism is much appreciated, but I won't hold anyone to it. I'm lazy like that, too.


End file.
